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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25053100">I Got You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pakeha/pseuds/Pakeha'>Pakeha</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Farscape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Biology, Alien/Human Relationships, Cloaca, Definitely not a virgin John, Fingering, First Time, Fisting, Gentle Sex, Interspecies, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Microphilia, Non-Humanoid alien - Freeform, Other, PWP, Sex In The Cockpit, Size Difference, Speculative xenobiology, Teratophilia, That should be a cocktail..., Virgin Pilot, Xenophilia, big alien gets it from small human, love and affection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:08:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25053100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pakeha/pseuds/Pakeha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Pilot share intimacy for the first time and it’s very, very good.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Crichton/Pilot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Got You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470850">I Came Here to See the Stars but All I Can See is You</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyBeethoven/pseuds/MistyBeethoven">MistyBeethoven</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’m rewatching Farscape now and when I was younger I just loved John and Aeryn so much that I completely missed seeing how many other spectacular possibilities this show presented.  I love the idea of involving Pilot in intimate encounters in particular as he presents some speculative xenobiological conundrums which are *fascinating*</p><p>Anyways have some weird porn with a lot of nice feelings.</p><p> </p><p>Also, for anyone unfamiliar with the show, here’s some translation:</p><p>Frell: Curse word which roughly means ‘Fuck’<br/>Dren: A slightly milder curse word which roughly means ‘Shit’ or ‘Damn’<br/>Weekens: roughly the same time unit as one earth week.  This is a dumb word but I didn’t make it up.<br/>Mivonks: a catch all word which refers to genitals, particularly testicle like genitals. Can be a curse word.<br/>microt: about 1 second<br/>Cycle: about 1 year<br/>Dench: about 1 inch</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pilot shudders, feeling soft and wanting.  </p><p>“John.”  He chokes, his primary appendages wrapped around several stray loops in the cockpit architecture, needing to ground himself to keep from flailing, keep from punching the wrong control and sending the lot of them careening wildly off course. </p><p>Before him the human grins, a genuine expression of happiness, an eagerness to play.  It’s not the false bearing of teeth he has so favored in the last weekens- thinly disguising agitation with humor. </p><p>His hands - goddess!  Those phalangic wonders are stroking firm and unflinching against Pilot’s carapace.  His palms cradle the broad curve of his chest, his thumbs meeting along the central line of his keel.  Those two, solid, blunt digits migrate lower, lower with his caresses, encroaching gently on the cloacal slit.  That particular bit of anatomy has not been used in<i> cycles</i>, not since becoming bonded to a leviathan and integrating with her fully. </p><p>Pilot honestly hadn’t been certain he was even still capable of feeling anything there, so dead to sensation the tissues had become, so dry and untouched.  </p><p>Unneeded. </p><p>John shifts his weight forward a bit from where he’s perched on the edge of the console, giving himself a better angle to press his hands against Pilot’s lower abdomen.  Those piercing blue eyes flit between studying his progress and gazing into Pilot’s own golden irises, mouth still grinning, cheeks flushed with pleasure.</p><p>He is so frelling <i>beautiful</i> to Pilot.  So alien.  So warm.  So strange.</p><p>A little trill of a whimper escapes up his throat and he leans his body forward into Crichton’s hands, trusting.</p><p>When one of the human’s thumbs explores a little more boldly it manages to worm its way between the pair of protective plates guarding Pilot’s genitals.  He makes careful but confident contact with the softer, sensitive tissues he finds beneath.  Pilot can’t fight back against the undulating contraction that seizes his muscles and rolls through him.  With a gasp he feels the rise of moisture inside him wetting the way, rushing to meet with John’s touch, to encourage him, to aid this interloper as he presses forward, edging further inside-</p><p>“Feels good, huh?”  John’s still grinning, incandescent like the glory of starburst and Pilot feels warm and illuminated and seen and he shuts his eyes, unwilling to cry but frell, it <i>feels so good</i>-</p><p>“Even before-“  Pilot gasps, words coming up short as John’s thumb catches on the place where Pilot <i>opens</i>, brushing just once over the split in the man’s flesh before he pushes <i>in</i>, penetrating until the web of skin which connects thumb to forefinger stops him.  It should be such an insignificant invasion.  The human’s fingers are smaller than any singular body part in Pilot’s own anatomy, but the feel of John exploring him manages to strike at his nerves with the bold intensity of thunder, rumbling through his cloacal shaft, awakening the parts of him he hasn’t… he’s never…</p><p>“Even before,”. He chokes out again, beak hanging open as he pants. “I never… I was not interested in seeking partnership with a- oh dren, John, more-“</p><p>Breathing deeply, huffing to fill his lungs with much needed air, John shifts his weight again, twisting his wrist slightly so the heel of his hand can start to follow his thumb.  He pushes against the separating plates harder, tenderly forcing the protective chitin over Pilot’s belly to flex and stretch wider, giving the human’s hand access enough to massage more firmly over the soft, wet flesh of Pilot’s entrance. </p><p>He is exposed, so very vulnerable in a way he has never been before.  </p><p>And Frell, he wants it.  Pilot <i>wants this</i>.</p><p>When John has made enough space for himself and Pilot’s plates have stopped fighting against the human to try and close back up and protect this vulnerable place, John begins to rub with his palm and fingers up and down the length of the bigger male’s folds, slow and firm, his thumb still dug in to him, sliding along the inner walls of the organ, sparking off every tiny nerve hiding there. </p><p>Pilot whines, letting his eyes slide open again because he needs to see, needs to see John there, joining him in his space, perched amidst the ship controls, reaching out with his face split in a heartfelt smile, giving him pleasure, giving him love, giving him play-</p><p>A spark of intense want thrums through him and pilot grunts.  “Your-  if you would, could you give me your-  the whole-“</p><p>“More?”  John asks, woefully understating Pilot’s need but he can be content with just another finger or two if that’s all John will give him and the larger male nods, dipping his crested brow forward to gently press against John’s forehead, needing another point of contact, wishing he trusted himself more to let go of his tethers with one of his arms and reach out to cradle this precious being closer. </p><p>“<i>More</i>.”  Pilot agrees, emphatic.  </p><p>John obliges. </p><p>Pilot whines so loud it sounds like a shriek when John shifts his hand, withdrawing his thumb just enough to get his fingers rearranged, and then starts to carefully press forward with all his digits lined up flat in a single plane, piercing into pilot like a deliriously sweet blade, cleaving into him, the breadth and and stretch and shape of it satisfying a deep, instinctual itch that Pilot has never scratched before.</p><p>It burns slightly, his body unused to this, this organ untried for this purpose, but the pain is minimal and easily dismissed compared to the deeply satisfying pleasure which John’s fingers, his knuckles, his strong palm elicit from Pilot’s body.  It feels like massaging a deep, hollow ache, replacing pain and emptiness with something soothing and warm and tingling and bright-</p><p>Pilot spent most of his youth feeling outcast, feeling lonesome, feeling lacking in some vital social aspect which would make him complete. </p><p>That hollowness had begun to fill in when he bonded with Moya, even as challenging as that bond had been in its infancy. </p><p>Yet while Moya and he are of one mind, one body, and he trusts her with his needs as much as she trusts him with hers, she will not and cannot do <i>this</i>-</p><p>This is a new way to assuage his emptiness.  Something different, something Pilot had never dared to dream of experiencing. </p><p>Something he’s wanted.</p><p>He feels whole in John’s hands. </p><p>He whimpers and rocks his long torso forward, trying to get John deeper, wanting him to touch <i>deeper</i>. </p><p>“Steady buddy, I got you.  Easy now, just let me, I got you.”</p><p>And he did.  He had Pilot in the center of his hand, a hand which was <i>shifting</i> inside him, folding in on itself, becoming a fist. </p><p>As the fingers drag one by one inside him, curling down towards Crichton’s palm, Pilot feels stretched <i>wider</i>.  As the human pushes the tender flesh inside him into new shapes he rubs greedily along new nerves and Pilot cries out, internal walls clenching around his human partner as the man starts to slowly, carefully move in and out of Pilot’s body, testing.  After a few tentative pushes which earn him breathy gasps from the larger male, John pulls almost all the way out of Pilot's channel, the fat muscle of his palm just beginning to threaten to retreat past his entrance.  Pilot holds his breath, riding the knife’s edge of anticipation.  </p><p>And John thrusts his arm back in.  Not mean, not violent, but quick and deliberate and confident and Pilot barks out a sob as he feels full, full, full-</p><p>“There you go sweetheart, I got you, just take it.”</p><p>“Yes John, yes-“ Pilot babbles, eyes nearly shut but he wants to watch, has to see the way John’s arm is fucking in and out of him, bringing a fresh bolt of pleasure with each thrust, lighting up his sensitive insides, carelessly or unknowingly dragging against the the larger male’s still concealed claspers, heightening his pleasure.</p><p>“Is it enough Pilot?  Can we get you there?”</p><p>And Pilot truly isn't sure where ‘there’ is precisely but this is more than enough, it’s good, it’s good, it’s good-</p><p>He can’t form any words so he just nods somewhat frantically, one of his primary arms giving up on staying away and wrapping around the human’s waist, not dragging him closer, not restraining or controlling, just squeezing as gently as he can, needing to touch, needing to hold onto John. </p><p>“I got you sweetheart, you can do it, come on, come on my fist, I got you.”</p><p>And Pilot’s beak snaps shut, his long torso arcing to curl towards John, curl around the place where they are joined.  His internal muscles clamp down on John’s fist, securing his arm in place.  The human doesn’t panic, he’s still smiling, looks breathless, delighted, rubbing soothingly at the outside of Pilot’s abdomen with the hand he has free, playing with the rivulets of thin glittering slick which have been forced out by their coupling. </p><p>“I got you Pilot, I got you.”</p><p>And the ship’s pilot wails, a great blaze of pleasure igniting in him and surging up through his torso, dancing on his nerves until it seems to singe his very sight, the world going white and shattered at the edges of his vision.  Somewhere deep in his brain where he’s connected to Moya he feeds her the pleasure too and she responds with a swell of deep fondness, for her Pilot, for her John. </p><p>And Pilot feels loved.  And Pilot feels whole. </p><p>Sobbing he twitches and squeezes around John’s hand, the human unable to thrust in and out for the fierce contracting of Pilot’s muscles, but still able to manipulate his wrist and rub his knuckles against sensitive nodes, coaxing as many bursts of pleasure out of Pilot’s climax as he possibly can. </p><p>Pilot feels hot and wet and trembly and so frelling good-</p><p>He contracts hard around John and moans long and low at the deep, satisfying bliss that follows.</p><p>It takes a while for the fires of orgasm to die back, and John makes no move to rush Pilot though it.  Still smiling contentedly, still caressing with his freehand over his partner’s torso, John just leans back slightly, welcomingly, into the arm Pilot has encircling his waist and let’s the pleasure in Pilot run its course.</p><p>When at length his body relaxes enough for the human to remove himself from Pilot’s body, it’s a careful, considerate thing.  John’s hand unfurls from it’s fist then does some remarkable human contortion which leaves the man’s thumb folded against this palm in order to minimize the intensity of his withdrawal.  There’s still a slight burn when the thickest part of Crichton’s palm passes from him but nothing Pilot would ever dream of complaining about.  He breathes through the insignificant pain and focuses on the warmth and buzzing pleasure still tingling throughout his body, all the way out to the long, fine tendrils which enmeshes him with Moya’s systems.</p><p>“Can I-“</p><p>Pilot jolts back into awareness of his immediate reality by the roughness of John’s voice, the hesitation in his question.  He’s still smiling but now it’s almost bashful, embarrassed, and Pilot feels a pin prick of nervousness because he’s very new to all this and isn’t sure what should happen next, what he should give to John, what the human needs-</p><p>Crichton doesn’t say anything else for a moment, just settles on a visual demonstration and unzips his black pants with fingers still shiny slick from Pilot's body.  He nudges the trousers along with his undergarments a few denches down his thighs, sighing loudly as the act frees a straining appendage which Pilot assumes is a genital organ on the human.  </p><p>An organ designed for penetration.</p><p>And Pilot’s nervousness is devoured by a fresh onslaught of <i>want</i>.</p><p>“Yes, John, whatever you need.”</p><p>John’s grin becomes megawatt again.  He slips forward off the control panel, Pilot’s arm a steadying presence behind him aiding him in his balance. </p><p>It’s a bit of an awkward process finding secure footing for John which places him at the right level to join himself with Pilot, but the human keeps grinning and Pilot does not let himself become embarrassed, taking his cues from his partner, feeling playful and wanton instead of foolish and mortified. </p><p>“Can you put your arms around me?  Help hold me-“</p><p>Before he can even finish Pilot is freeing his other primaries from where he’s had them gripping onto various handholds around him.  Being able to wrap all four arms around the human feels brazen and possessive and greedy and Pilot <i>relishes it</i>.  John laughs and dips his head forward to nuzzle against Pilot’s neck.  </p><p>“Perfect, sweetheart.”</p><p>From there it is a simple matter of Crichton reaching down to make sure Pilot’s entrance remains exposed, then he simply strokes his organ twice to wet it and carefully pushes his hips forward to pierce him.  His cock goes deeper than his thumb did but not not nearly as deep as his arm.  It’s still pleasant, warm, wet, intimate and Pilot feels a giddy selfishness inside him yearn to have John here like this frequently, rutting into him, taking and giving pleasure, sharing warmth and companionship and time. </p><p>“Frell, Pilot, you're so wet-“</p><p>And Pilot has to assume this is a good thing because John gasps, one hand still braced against Pilot’s abdomen, the other massaging his own belly and the base of his cock and what Pilot assumes are his mivonks tucked between his legs.  The human’s strong back pushes against Pilot’s grip, trusting the larger male to hold him, to provide him the counter he needs to thrust hard and steady into Pilot’s pliant flesh.  </p><p>Pilot’s whole body shivers, blissful. </p><p>“John-“</p><p>“Close buddy, I’m close-“</p><p>The human suddenly shifts his foot slightly, giving him better stability to gain a sharper angle and dren!  He manages to strike some new nerve hidden along Pilot’s inner walls and the larger male gasps and whines, dropping his head forward to touch to Crichton’s shoulder, trying to be careful with his superior bulk and strength but wanting to wrap himself so tightly around this creature, holding him close and coveted in his arms until the end of days.</p><p>“Fuck, <i>Pilot</i>, you feel so good, flexing around me, feels good sweetheart, feels so good.”</p><p>And of all the praise and gratitude he’s been given over the years by his rag tag crew, Pilot’s never felt more earnestly proud than he does in this moment, being here with John, being able to give him this, being able to share in pleasure with him.</p><p>A low croon escapes Pilot, a sound of soothing, of affection, of love, and he’s grateful that they are not of the same species, that he can still protect John from the knowledge of just how deep his feelings for the human go.  John is transcendent and complex and Pilot does not want to tie him down with too intense a connection.  Still he croons, purring lowly, incapable of repressing the sounds of utter devotion rumbling from his chest.</p><p>“God damn, Pilot, unghh-“. John grunts, his words escaping him.  He tilts his head so his cheek is pressed to Pilot’s crest and he rubs at him like a Meloran sand shrew, nuzzling against his partner and it’s sweet, so very sweet. </p><p>His hips jab forward hard two, three more times, sparking off another cascade of tingling pleasure in Pilot, then the human goes rigid and still, panting hard with his pelvis pressed flush to Pilot’s abdomen.  The larger male can feel his muscles tense and quiver, can feel the jerking of his member in his channel, can just sense the increased wetness in his cloaca as John spends his fluid inside him: a base, physical, male desire to breed. </p><p>Oh, Pilot would do that for him, if he could.  He would do anything for John. </p><p>After another minute of John panting wetly against Pilot’s crest the human shifts his head to withdraw a bit, his hands going to frame Pilot’s much larger face, guiding it up so they can look each other in the eye. </p><p>Crichton’s face is a flushed and beautiful shade of pink, his eyes glittery and bright, his short hair darkened from perspiration, his lips  just drawn back over his teeth in a tender grin. </p><p>“Wow.”  He says simply, an exclamation Pilot has come to learn the meaning of from repeat usage by the smaller alien and he lets the corners of his own mouth pull up into a pleased smile. </p><p>“Wow indeed.”  He agrees, flexing his muscles around the cock still buried inside him and John shudders, eyes closing as he rides out the sensation, breathing deeply until Pilot’s teasing subsides and he can concentrate again. </p><p>“<i>Wow.</i>”</p><p>Putting one hand again to Pilot’s abdomen John carefully starts to withdraw from the other man's body.  There is much by way of lubrication and Pilot’s body is significantly larger than John’s so his retreat brings no discomfort, just a mild feeling of regret in Pilot.  </p><p>He wishes John could stay joined with him longer. </p><p>“You alright?  I didn’t hurt you, did I?”  John murmurs, the hand still against Pilot’s face starts to stroke him gently, his thumb chaffing along the high line of a cheek bone.</p><p>“Not at all John, that was… That was <i>wonderful.</i>”</p><p>And Pilot means it, truly.  He knows abstractly that joining with a male of his own kind would have involved much… larger appendages penetrating him.  While, generally speaking, he is homosexually inclined, such  thoughts of <i>invasion</i> have always made him uncomfortable, anxious even.  John’s body, his hands and his penetrating organ are all… They’re perfect, for lack of a better word.  </p><p>They fit him perfectly. </p><p>The larger male does avert his eyes bashfully for a moment before he says.  “I was not sure I would feel… much, to be honest.  Your… your organ is much smaller than one possessed by my species.”</p><p>John immediately laughs and Pilot <i>loves</i> that sound.  It’s honest and open and kind, not brittle and broken and false. </p><p>“On earth there’s a saying:  It’s not the size of the tool, it’s knowing how to use it that counts.”</p><p>Pilot chuckles, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the crassness the phrase implies but feeling a greater, illicit thrill of <i>understanding</i>.</p><p>“Such an addage feels.. apt.”</p><p>“Sure does.”  John coos, nuzzling forward against the leathery ridges of PIlot’s neck and the bigger male is happy, so very happy.</p><p>“Thank you John.”  He murmurs, needing to articulate this feeling but lacking in anything more eloquent to say. </p><p>The human just smiles. “You don’t have to thank me.  Love you buddy, I really do.”</p><p>And Pilot’s every cell sings with contentment.  </p><p>“And I, you, John Crichton.”</p>
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